Are You OK?
by Fangirlofrandomness
Summary: An Om Shanti Om fic, of course! In the aftermath of the fire, Om is left wondering who he is, Om Kapoor or Om Prakash Makhija. On top of it all, an upset Sandy think she should go home, and he has to find a way to make her stay.


(A/N: So! Here's another OSO fic, I just finished it today, after two solid hours of writing! YAY ME!)

Om Kapoor jerked wide awake, and wide-eyed, looked around at his digital alarm clock. It was seven o'clock. He hadn't been up this early since he finished school. But he didn't feel like going back to sleep.

His mind kept replaying images of fire, flames taller than himself, and hungrier than a pig. And in the middle of them was a beautiful girl – no, wait, two beautiful girls. But the strange thing was, it wasn't truly a nightmare. He wasn't screaming, he wasn't crying, he was merely a little concerned for the girls. But then one of the girl's image grew in his mind, and it started laughing, and then she was blowing a bubble, and it popped, and OK jerked awake.

Stretching luxuriously, he rolled out of his ever-so-modern circular bed and headed downstairs. OK wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that this was about the time his father awoke. Or was he his father? After all the confusion with Om and OK, Om really couldn't be sure who was related to him, and who wasn't.

Mr. Kapoor was sitting in a chair in the kitchen, just taking his last bite of toast. His eyes were intently focused on the front page of the newspaper, so he didn't notice his son until OK was seated at the table.

"Om!" Mr. Kapoor said, visibly startled. "What are you doing up so early?"

OK tried to smile, but the attempt was a little wan. "Just woke up early. I had a bad dream," he confessed childishly.

But his father wasn't concentrating, his eyes focused on his newspaper. "Do you know anything about this? Your set for Om Shanti Om just went up in flames! Just last night! And Mukesh Mehra died in it!"

OK froze. _Damn journalists. _He had forgotten the news would be in the newspapers the next day. "What?" he pretended to be clueless and shocked. Grabbing the newspaper, he began to read. The whole hall had spontaneously combusted last night, and nobody was absolutely sure how it had happened. The body of Mukesh Mehra, the producer had been found burned almost beyond recognition, but a ring he always wore had identified him.

Reading the passage brought a lump to OK's throat. He wasn't sorry in the least that he had brought revenge onto Mukesh's head, but the hall had been a beautiful place. He was sorry that the whole hall was destroyed.

"This is a disaster!" He chucked down the newspaper on the table, hoping it wasn't too over-dramatic. He had to act like he cared. "Om Shanti Om will be ruined!"

"Well, actually, son," his father interrupted his tirade. "I believe it would bring even more publicity to the film. And after all, what is the big problem? You don't even need the hall anymore!"

OK stopped and reconsidered. "Well, yes… but, well, it's not a good omen for the movie, is it?"

_Bad move_, he mentally winced the moment after the words escaped his mouth. Now his father looked especially alarmed. "Since when have you cared about omens? Remember when that cable on that movie set snapped, and Ritteek Rashon fell, and probably would have died, except for the tents thing? You weren't so superstitious then! Om, are you OK?"

_That's the million-dollar question_, Om thought ironically. "Well," spluttered Om, "Things are different now!" _Understatement of the century_, he thought ruefully to himself. "I've changed, Dad. Changed in ways you would never be able to understand!"

On that cheerful note, he turned on his heel, and made the most filmi exit possible, with his father staring after him. Who said Bollywood wasn't good for anything? The move was startling, and clichéd, but distracting, and that was the important thing.

Returning to his room, OK flopped down on his bed again. First things first: what had happened last night? He closed his eyes, and startling visions leaped into life in front of his eyes. He remembered the flames, the hungry fire, Mukesh Mehra in the middle, Sandy coming down the stairs.

But wait! Was that Sandy? Or was that someone else? The eyes seemed to glow with secrets, with a haunted past, and OK decided immediately that it was not Sandy. Sandy's eyes laughed, even when they cried. It could be no other than Shantipriya, and as Om realized this, a shiver of awe went through him.

He let out a breath, as the magnitude of what had happened last night washed over him. Shantipriya had been buried alive. She had come back as a ghost. OK smiled thinly, as he realized, if reincarnations were possible, why not ghosts?

But as he remembered that shining, pearly light, and Shantipriya walking towards it, he realized the ghost was finally at peace. He would forever remember that moment, Shantipriya, the legendary Shantipriya, smiling down at him, a peaceful smile, a perfect smile, and then, running up the stairs like they led to heaven.

"Om?" OK sat up abruptly. It was his father at the door.

"Yes, Dad?" He opened the door, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. OK wasn't in the mood to be disturbed.

"There's someone here to see you. Will you see her, or do I ask them to come back later?"

Mystified, OK asked, "Who?"

His father simply motioned with his arm to the balcony overlooking the sitting room. Peering down, Om saw a pair of big luminous eyes, as familiar to him as his own face, staring right up at him. Tentatively, she smiled at OK, and Om abruptly started for the stairs, saying, "Yes, Dad, I'll see her now!" over his shoulder.

Right before he entered the room, for some reason, he ducked in front of the mirror and finger-combed his hair quickly. He hadn't brushed it after waking up; it looked like a terrible mess. Grimacing at his reflection for a second, he then walked casually into the room.

"Hello, OK," Sandy greeted him, a trifle nervously.

"Sandy! How are you?" OK smiled at her in his best debonair, who-cares manner, stretching his arms as though he was going to hug her. He could see something was bothering her, it was obvious to anybody who looked upon her. Sandy's face always reflected her emotions as clearly as glass.

"OK," she began, ignoring his question. "I came here to apologize. I know I messed up last night, and it's all my fault that you almost died, I'm really sorry…you don't know how sorry – if you could just forgive – "

With every word Om heard, he began experiencing a strange foreign emotion. It was...fury? OK was furious. That didn't happen often. But not at her – all his hate was directed towards the charred flesh which had recently been Mukesh Mehra. It was all his fault that those luminous brown eyes were growing over-bright with tears, and if he hadn't already paid for his deeds, OK would have enjoyed beating him up, filmi-style, very much.

"Sandy!" he interrupted, not willing to hear another word. "Are you seriously blaming yourself for last night? I cannot believe this, what the fish, what is wrong with you, you're so stupid!"

His anger had reached the point where he couldn't form anymore words, when he saw that Sandy's eyes were swimming with tears, in an expression that Om recognized immediately. Without another word, Sandy walked quickly out of the room, swiping at tears in the corner of the eye.

_Shit_, Om cursed himself. He hated it when he made Sandy cry. Sighing, he turned on his heel, and jogged to catch up with Sandy.

He had to admit, she was a fast walker. By the time OK caught up with her, she was halfway down the drive. _I have got to get rid of my personal trainer_, he thought rather distractedly as he kept pace with Sandy.

"Look, Sandy," he began, then cringed inwardly at the stupidity of his remark. Of course, she did not look. Quickly getting in front of her, he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop and look at him. "Sandy, listen to me, please." That was a first. He had never really said that word much to anybody.

All of a sudden, she stopped, and looked directly at him with wet, angry eyes. "What, Om? I come to you to apologize and tell you I'm going home, and you start yelling at me? What else must I listen to?"

Suddenly, a little bit of shame crept into Om's face. Now that she put it that way, it did sound unreasonable. But then, he was distracted. "Wait – you're going? Where to? Why? Where?"

Now Sandy's eyes were narrowed in confusion. "I'm going back home, of course! I mean, now you don't need me around anymore to scare Mukesh, and I figured out that I'm not much of an actress, so I'll just go home. Why?"

Panic suddenly overtook Om, but he fought hard not to show it on his face. Somehow, he hadn't thought much about what would happen after Mukesh died. It made sense, that she should return to her parents, but he definitely didn't want her to leave.

"You know, you're not that bad an actress," he casually remarked, in a desperate effort to make her stay. "I mean, you really don't have to be able to act to be in Bollywood – look at Malika Serwath!"

Sandy still shook her head. "I have to go, Om. And I'm sorry about last night. I know I failed you."

Irritation rose in Om like an annoyed cobra. "Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, how many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault? How do you think it would have ended? He was destined to die ever since he buried Shantipriya alive!"

Shocked, Sandy's head jerked up to stare at Om. "What? I thought he set her afire?"

Wearily, Om led her to one of the benches that dotted the expansive lawn, and when they were both seated, told her the tale, making sure not to leave out any detail, (embellishing the story quite a bit). Sandy was a good listener, interrupting at just the right moments, and with each descriptive passage, her eyes grew even wider.

By the end of the story, her eyes were as big as soup plates. "So this means…that it was Shantipriya who killed Mukesh?" She looked up at Om for confirmation, and he nodded, slightly tired.

"And the worst part of all this, Sandy," Om confessed, only slightly embarrassed that he was telling her this, "Now I'm not sure who I am anymore."

Sandy's forehead crinkled in confusion. Hastily, Om clarified. "Well, I – it's just that I'm not – quite sure whether I am Om or OK. I mean, am I Om Prakash Makhija or Om Kapoor?"

"Oh!" Sandy made a small noise of realization. "I see!" She smiled up at OK, with the particular smile of a person who thinks a problem is easy to solve. "In that case, I have an idea. What's your favorite food?"

"What?" OK asked, momentarily disconcerted. What did it matter what food he liked?

Rolling her eyes, Sandy replied. "Just answer the question, OK? What's your favorite food?"

OK took a moment to consider the question. "Sushi," he replied at last, feeling a little hungry as he said it. He hadn't had much of a breakfast, after all. Perhaps there was some back in the house…

He was going to suggest going back into the house, but Sandy started talking again. "Next question – "

"There's more?" whined OK

Sandy raised her eyebrows at him, and he quickly looked down. "What is your favorite color?"

"Red," he answered easily, looking at her, puzzled. In fact, the color of the blouse she was wearing was exactly his favorite color, and, really looking at Sandy as Sandy, and not as Shantipriya, he could see how well it suited her.

"Now, what's your favorite movie? One that you haven't acted in, if that's possible," Sandy asked, grinning a little as she said the last few words.

"Mmm…probably Dilwale Dulhan Le Jayenge." It was the only film he hadn't acted in, but really loved to watch over and over. Not that he really had time to watch films and movies.

"Favorite song?" Sandy briskly asked.

"What are you, a passport application form?" Om muttered, and then, louder, he told her, "Dard-E-Disco, from Dard Bhara Dil, it's quite catchy. Of course, I was the one who came up with the idea to do it."

"Of course," Sandy agreed, straight-faced.

"Will you be needing my birth certificate number with that?" Om asked her sarcastically.

"If you have it…" Sandy pretended to take him seriously. Om looked at her with a raised eyebrow, not sure whether she was really joking with him. To his surprise, he kind of liked it when she did.

"And the point of all this was…?" Om asked Sandy, making circling gestures with his hands.

"According to Ma-ji, Om Prakash Makhija's favorite food was kheer. According to Stardust Magazine, Om Kapoor's favorite food is sushi. Ma-ji says Om 's favorite color was blue. Stardust says OK's favorite color is red – scarlet, in fact. Ma-ji says Omy's favorite film was Dreamy Girl. Stardust says OK's favorite film is Dilwale Dulhan Le Jayenge. Omy loved the song Kabhie Kabhie. OK's favorite song is Dard-E-Disco. Now, you compare your results yourself, and tell me who you are," Sandy recited off clearly, looking OK straight in the face.

Now OK was really impressed. It had taken Sandy forever to get down her lines to pretend to be Shanti, but she hadn't hesitated a second in reciting off all those facts. "How do you remember all that?"

Sandy grinned mischievously at him. "I wasn't joking when I told you I was your biggest fan, you know." OK smiled at her and absentmindedly reached for her hand. "So, Om, which Om do you think you are: Om Prakash Makhija or Om Kapoor?"

Om pretended to think over it for a few seconds, although the answer seemed pretty clear to him. True, that color choices and musical preferences did not make up whole characters, but it was about as much inclination he would receive, and plus, he liked being himself.

Suddenly, a brilliant plan occurred to him. "I am bloody brilliant!" he muttered to himself under his breath, an excited glow coming to his face.

Sandy looked at him, indignantly. "I mean, you are bloody brilliant!" Om amended. "I'm Om Kapoor, aren't I? Not Om Prakash Makhija, I'm OK!"

"Good to know!" Sandy remarked, smiling broadly. Her eyes did funny things to his heart when they shined quite like that.

Turning to her, as though he was giving something a lot of thought, he said, "You know, Sandy, I've been thinking about hiring a secretary, you know, to keep track of stuff for me. It's a little too out-of-hand for me, all this filmi business."

Now Sandy was really confused at the turn the conversation had taken. "Ookaay?"

OK grinned mischievously, and all of a sudden, Sandy realized what was going on. A part of her wanted to protest, but it was an extremely small part. "So, how would you like to be my secretary, Sandy?"

She couldn't stop a smile from creeping onto her face. "I think... I accept, Mr. Kapoor"

They grinned at each other, but then, a sudden rumble came from the direction of OK's stomach. "And your first secretarial duty will be to get me a glass of orange juice!"

Sandy's eyebrows lifted, but then she decided to play along, and she frowned for a moment. "But don't you have to show me around the place, Mr. Kapoor, and tell me how you like your orange juice?"

"What do you mean, how do I like my orange juice? I like it in a glass, with a hole from where I can drink it."

"But do you want it with pulp, extra pulpy, lots of pulp or no pulp at all?"

OK groaned. "Come on, you win. I'll show you around the house. Might as well get you to meet my dad as well. You've met Ma-ji, now meet my father."

And together, they headed up towards the palatial bungalow.

(A/N: I thought it was a rather neat way to end it, with Sandy solving OK's problem, and OK solving Sandy's. I think I'll make another chapter, for when Sandy meets Mr. Kapoor. I mean, he's technically her (hopeful) father-in-law, she should meet him too, don't you think? Drop a review by me and tell me what you think!)


End file.
